A truncated alphabet (each section being labelled with a letter and the series ending at O)

N is distinguished by its line breaks (the others have run on prose).

You wake up one morning and you've never seen the colour blue. No one told
you. You realize they all felt sad.
One hundred years of solitude sits on your beside table.
Blake lies on the floor by your bed.
The Spicer book is beside the bottle of Canadian Club.
It is still life. With or without blue.
Your penis was larger last night.
Technological terrorism.

This reads like a set piece that could be updated with a pastiche swapping out the authors and titles but not the Canadian Club. The one book presiding but unmentioned is William H. Gass On Being Blue.